


Must Have Been Part Of The Game

by LuxObscura



Series: Recon, Ruction, Recover, Relax [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 07:15:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4010749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxObscura/pseuds/LuxObscura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d known that the person — because the soldier is still a person, despite HYDRA’s best efforts to strip him of everything that made him so — that Natasha had dragged back to the tower has little of Bucky’s memory but he’s read the files and he knows what prolonged time out of cryo can provoke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Must Have Been Part Of The Game

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Here’s one: Steve, Bucky (in whatever arrangement you like them best) and a Bing Crosby tune.
> 
> [Audio aid for this fic](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qXGv-rd-bvA).

A cord snakes from the control panel of the holding cell, across the floor and into Steve’s phone, which sits on the bench next to Steve.  There’s a book in his hands but it’s closed, one finger holding his place in the pages.   His head is tipped back against the wall and his thoughts drift.  Along the bottom edge of his vision he can see B— see _him_ stretched out on the narrow bed of the cell, the forcefield of the fourth wall transparent for as long as Steve’s out here.  

Steve spends at least an hour every day in the sub-basement of Stark— no, _Avengers_ Tower.  He doesn’t try to talk anymore.  At best his words provoke no change in the blank stares.  At worst, the soldier snarls and flings himself at the barrier and it turns opaque, indicating the visit is over.  Instead Steve’s selected a playlist of music, things he remembers hearing in dance halls and through crackling wireless speakers, all of it from before they went to war.  There’s been no glimmer of recognition but there also haven’t been any outbreaks of aggression, so Steve makes himself as content as he can, listening, reading, _waiting._   

He’d known that the _person_ — because the soldier is still a person, despite HYDRA’s best efforts to strip him of everything that made him so — that Natasha had dragged back to the tower has little of Bucky’s memory but he’s read the files and he knows what prolonged time out of cryo can provoke.  HYDRA had called it “instability”.  Steve dares to think of it as healing — the body trying to build new connections where the old ones had been burned away, trying to access pockets of memory that had been cut off for decades.  Steve figures that he doesn’t age like normal people.  He can afford to be patient.  He can afford to be patient for a long time.  He will wait and see what comes back.  He’ll wait until the whole damn city falls down around his ears if he has to.  And if… if nothing comes back — _and god does that thought ache —_ at least he’ll know he waited ’til the end… His eyes burn and he squeezes them shut.  The end of the line.  

The feeling passes and he tips his head forward, opening his eyes.  The soldier is stretched out on his back, right arm across his eyes, left arm dangling to the floor.  If not for the lines of tension in every muscle, the way his jaw tics erratically, Steve might almost believe he is relaxed.  

The song changes, the soft crackle of phonograph static before an orchestra kicks in with an introduction that shifts erratically between melancholy and jaunty.  The index finger of the soldier’s left hand taps once against the floor and stops.  Bing Crosby croons out of the speakers, _We've played the game of, 'Stay away’, but it costs more than I can pay.  Without you I can't make my way.  I surrender, dear._ The metal finger scrapes across the floor with a discordant squeal.  The right hand tightens into a fist.  Steve’s breath catches and he moves to stop the song, to prevent another outburst of wild violence.  Before he can reach his phone, the soldier’s head turns and Steve knows with visceral certainty that it’s _Bucky_ looking out at him.  The hard lines around his eyes have softened and while his jaw is still tight the muscles there are no longer jumping with barely-contained tension.  

The music picks up, swings a little, and then drops back into slow, singing strings.

Steve stares at Bucky.  Bucky stares at Steve.

Bucky’s lips are moving on the last verse.  _To you my love my life my all._   “I remember…” and Steve sits forward in his chair a little, heart clenching in his chest.  “You never did know when to walk away.”  Bucky looks at him evenly, eyes clear and unclouded for the first time since he was brought in.  He blinks a few times and then rolls over on the narrow bed, his back to Steve.  Steve’s heart sinks and he leans back in his chair.  He’s about to pack up for the day when Bucky shifts again, rolling onto his back and turning his head to look at Steve, eyes narrow and calculating.  He doesn’t say anything else, but this time he doesn’t look away.  Steve doesn’t hope, exactly.  But he fears just a little less.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://lux-obscura.tumblr.com)!


End file.
